


The Inquisitor and Their Love Interests

by Millennium_Fae



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Anxiety, Depression, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Self-Insert, Transgender
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-09
Updated: 2015-11-09
Packaged: 2018-04-30 21:25:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5180300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Millennium_Fae/pseuds/Millennium_Fae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some fluff dedicated to all those out there, who may need a little pick-me-up! </p>
<p>I'm so proud of all of you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Depressed Inquisitor

**Cassandra Pentaghast**

She sees your eyes wander aimlessly during the War Councils, half-lidded and lifeless. She sees your arms shake as you gather papers, your limbs weakened and aching. She notices how you no longer speak with conviction and instead mumble with an uninterested monotone.

After a skirmish in the Hinterlands, where you fight with no joy or enthusiasm, she pulls you aside and rests a gentle hand on your shoulder; “I can see your duties have weighed heavily on your soul,” she says, but you shake your head - this is just a stretch of bad days, you reply with a tired smile.

Cassandra looks at you with intense compassion. “If so, then rest easy. No matter if this ‘stretch’ of 'bad days’ lasts weeks or years, I will be at your side.”

**\--**

**Cullen Rutherford**

He notices how you no longer stay to mingle amongst your colleagues after a mission and how you instead retire to your quarters at only 9 in the evening. You sleep for 10, 12, 16 hours at a time. But you are never rested enough.

One day, you laugh about it to Cullen, claiming that you’ve grown soft in the days past. But he is somber - he recognizes this exhaustion. During his time in Kirkwall, he felt much the same, but he kept it hidden like he kept so many things buried away.

He stops your false laugh with a full body embrace and holds you tightly. “You’re so brave and strong,” he says without any trepidation, “and don’t ever think yourself not.” Unlike myself, he thinks privately in his head.

\-- 

**Solas**

He knows exactly what’s wrong even before you do. You’ve always struggled with relapses of troubling ailments throughout your life, and you know they come relatively regularly. But in the rise of so many responsibilities, you’ve not thought much of your sudden insomnia. You can live on five hours of sleep, although you wish you didn’t wake up in the middle of every night. It’s only when you suddenly find yourself drowning in thoughts of self-hatred do you realize that something is wrong.

Even before that point, Solas had been making an effort to pay you with excess gentleness. What was previously a simple 'hello’ would be a soft embrace. What was once a fond gaze became a slow kiss on your forehead. He would reach for your waist when you visit his rotunda whereas previously he seemed to constantly remain a respectful distance.

When you confront him on this recent development and tell him that you’ve lived like this since you could remember, that it hasn’t destroyed you yet and it won’t now, he smiles kindly with unabashed pride. He offers to take you on a quiet outing, just because he loves you. Solas doesn’t tell you that he _knows_ depression like its a second skin and that your own fortitude gives him strength, but you have an inkling nevertheless.

\---

**Iron Bull**

You’re admittedly a little nervous about confessing your sudden lack of sharing his bed, but of course Iron Bull doesn’t question you. He accepts your admittance with no skin off his nose and the conversation ends.

You go on without a second thought, but Iron Bull mulls over the situation silently, like any good Qunari spy does. Your sudden lack of libido combined with your recent lack of appetite, add on your random back and neck aches and you got … yes, this is a bad situation.

So he cleverly feeds the advisers with missions he knows you’d enjoy. You take Iron Bull with you on brain-teasing adventures and exhilarating treks through beautiful landscapes. Your mind is kept mercifully occupied even though your body aches with pain during these long hikes. On these travels, Iron Bull and his weak ankle and old injuries aches with you. “Two old, creaky bastards taking on the world, _Kadan_ ,” he smirks at you fondly as the both of you watch a High Dragon fly in the near distance.

\---

**Josephine Montilyet**

Preparing for the Winter Palace is long, arduous work, but Josephine is patient with you as she guides you through the many nooks and crannies of Orlesian politics. However, even her patience starts to falter when she notices how little information you seem to take in. You can’t remember half of what she tells you even on good days.

“You must make an effort, Inquisitor!” she finally exclaims, “or the fate of the world shall fall along with you!” And with those words, the blood drains from your face and you feel an overwhelming sense of dread unfurl within you. Josephine immediately freezes as she sees the first tear fall. Her tablet falls from her hand with a clatter and she swoops down in front of you, holding your face with gentle hands.

She sees the frustration in your eyes, how you truly want to learn but can’t for the life of you. You confess that your mind simply cannot focus no matter how hard you try, as if you no longer had control over yourself. Josephine’s own eyes well up as she apologizes for not recognizing the issue. You bury your face into the crook of her neck and Josephine swears that she will help you get through all of this. It’s what she’s here for.

 ---

**Blackwall**

He sees you take an extra tankard of ale in the evenings and notices how it quickly escalates to a shot of gin in the mornings followed by whiskey in the afternoon. He sees you fill up your pipe every hour rather than just after meals, how you suck in the smoke like it’s the only thing keeping you going.

At first, he thinks not much of it, but eventually he finds you lying in the straw of the stables, worn out and drunk, and he realizes that he should have done something earlier. Like the gentleman he is, he takes his coat and wraps it around you gently, holding you close all the while. He lifts your chin to meet his sad, compassionate gaze and waits for you to speak.

But you don’t, because there’s really nothing to say. Blackwall wishes he could do something, but you can’t tell him what’s wrong. He’s so scared he’ll loose you, and he has no idea how to save you. But you don’t need saving, and although the days stretch on with no clear happy ending in sight, you always find a way to end up back within his warm embrace. It’s all the comfort you both really need.

 ---

**Dorian Pavus**

Dorian, young and troubled as he may be, can see that your listlessness is not because of your role as Inquisitor. He knows it’s more complicated than that, that your recent habit of sitting silently for hours at a time is not because your duties weigh down on you, but instead because it just happens. He’s seen it happen to his mother, his father, Alexius, and Felix. He knows the weight of it himself, to an extent.

He sits down besides you and strikes up some small talk, trying to provoke you with his witty humor. You respond back best you can, but the truth is that you no longer find joy in most things. Sometimes, all you can bring yourself to do is sit. Dorian looks at you sadly and sees the turmoil, but lacks the ability to cure your strife. You look back at him and see your own despair mirrored within his own eyes.

Dorian laughs and rests his head on your shoulder. “We’re just one big mess,” he says with no small amount of bitterness. You shake your head and press your foreheads together in a tender embrace. “We’re survivors, you and I,” you correct him.

\---

**Sera**

From the beginning, the two of you have bonded over a shared problem of having fears. Sera fears magic, emptiness, and dishonesty, not because of any concrete reasons, just because shedoes. You fear many things in much the same way. You and Sera can sit together and understand that sometimes, fear just happens without some long, stuffy dissertation to justify them.

But when the going gets rough and you start getting more and more fears that seem to spawn from nothing, you find yourself unable to laugh again. Instead, your joys are replaced with side-glances and paranoia, as if you expected the ground to crumble from under your feet. The others tease about letting the stress get to you, but Sera knows the power of fear and how it consumes you.

The two of you stick together like peas of a pod, leaning on each other for strength. The both of you know that fears may not dissappear, but neither are they meant to be faced alone.


	2. Anxious Inquisitor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inquisitors with anxiety and panic disorders, dedicated to those who are so infinitely strong.

**Cassandra Pentaghast**

She comes to you like a gale wind, her words steady and strong and quick, quick quick, she demands an answer - “Tell me why we shouldn’t kill you now”, was her first words to you, and you couldn’t trust yourself to answer lest you said something damning. Now her words are much kinder, but her headstrong attitude still occasionally makes your heart pound and your throat close.

One day, she pulls you aside and asks to speak with you privately. “You are a very … soft-spoken person,” she says, “I was hoping that your quietness is not because of me, or my brash ways.” You hesitate for a bit, but you respond with an honest _yes, sometimes you can make me feel very nervous._

You wait for Cassandra to retort back with a defense, or tease your timidness, but instead she smiles reassuringly. “And so I sincerely apologize for not knowing.” She puts a firm hand on your arm. “Tell me what makes you uncomfortable, my love, and I will _never_ do so again.”

\---

**Cullen Rutherford**

You stand in the corridor, frantically wiping your sweaty palms onto your trousers. You gulp wetly as your heart pounds a dent into your sternum. You eyes well up as your muscles begin to ache. _Fool,_ you tell yourself. _What have you got to be so worked up about?_ The answer was literally nothing, of course. Your walk to dinner simply had to be interrupted by a nonsense bout of painful panic.

Out of the corner of your eye, you spot a familiar blond soldier approach you. Cullen greets you formally, but you’re too choked up to answer. Perturbed by your sudden silence, he rushes to your side. “Are you in pain?” He asks, and at first you shake your head … but you stop and give the tiniest nod. Cullen jerks his head up; he recognizes your teary red eyes, the flushed, sweaty skin, the shaking limbs. He has felt the sting of these things himself, in the not-so-distant past.

Showing a secret mastery of bedside mannerisms, he takes your arm ever so gently, and leads you out the corridor and into a quieter room. In the silence, you are free from putting on airs, and you are finally able to calm down. Cullen waits until you give a reassuring nod, and he gathers you into his arms. He tells you that you are so brave, so strong. You smile wearily and cup his face; _together, we can weather any storm,_ you reply, _no matter if they be of the battlefield, or of our own personal demons._

_\---_

**Solas**

You can’t remember the last time you slept unhindered. Unbeknownst to no one else, you have a crippling fear of dark seclusion that prevents you from sleeping alone at night. When you were still living with the rest of your clan, you would retire while the rest of your clan were still sharing stories by the fire - their low chatter calmed you down enough to sleep. 

Now, you are expected to sleep in a silent, secluded tower, and the isolation makes your mind draw terrible thoughts. Eventually, you decide that you cannot spend yet another night spent frozen with irrational fear. You approach your beloved Solas - for if there was anyone who wouldn’t judge a show of nerves, it was him - and you ask him to spend the night with you. _Just to sleep_ , you clarify. He smiles softly and of course he says yes. 

That night, the two of you lie in a warm embrace, limbs locked together like spoons in a drawer. He combs your hair with his fingers, and you relax by concentrating on the sensation of his hands. He caresses your arms, your waist, and he traces the bone of your eyebrow and the softness of your cheek. When you look at Solas, you can see a bright twinkle of both sadness and utter devotion that betrays the stoic mask he wears. You know he values this companionship as much as you do, and that he, too, fears loneliness like nothing else. For a preciously short time, the two of you were no longer alone and no longer afraid.

\---

**Iron Bull**

You know that some think you anti-social. Unlike your companions, you rarely make an effort to converse with your co-workers or your advisors. You almost never make conversation, and when someone tries to reach out to you, it’s a stilted discussion that is quickly tapered off. It’s not as if you dislike company, you simply cannot bring yourself to _talk_. Fighting, closing Rifts, winning battles - these are challenges you’d be happy to tackle. Talking to people is an insurmountable mountain to you.

So when Bull suggests to introduce you to the Chargers, panic unfurls. You know he means it as a friendly suggestion, but to be expected to start and uphold several extended conversations? The thought of it terrifies you. But when Bull picks up on your shaking fists and quickened breathing, he makes no overt notice of it. Instead, he nonchalantly adds on, “You know, I pick up my guys from all over. I get them from cities, or slums, or from prisons, and sometimes from a ratty homestead in the wilderness -

\- Some of my men are big, some are small, some like magic, some hate it. Some drink tea for breakfast, some drink whiskey.” He smiles warmly at you. “Some of them are smart, some are dumb, quick, slow, loud, or quiet. But they all get along.” You realize that this was his way of saying _You are not alone. I won’t abandon you_. True enough, when you meet the Chargers, Bull expertly leads the conversation while still engaging you at a level you’re comfortable with. All throughout the evening, he neither pushes you nor abandons you - a trend that he continues whenever he’s with you.

\---

**Josephine Montilyet**

As the Herald, you are graciously described as ‘efficient’. You put nothing off; when you are given a new assignment, it is immediately seen to. Everything from rescue missions to closing Rifts are completed one by one with maniac energy. You tell yourself to give 110% every time. _I must do better tomorrow, and I must do even better the day afterwards. I must improve myself,_ you chant privately. _Nobody said that this was going to be easy._

Months pass, and you’ve grown accustomed to living off of nervous energy. Josephine watches as you operate off of empty fumes, your frantic ways becoming more and more agitated. One day, she confronts you before breakfast (a dreadfully early 4:30, like always) with a firm hand. “My love, I must brief you on a mission.” She tells you to head to the Dales and wait for reinforcements. But when you get there, you find Josephine herself with a large picnic basket. She bids you sit down on at a tidy patio, breaks open a bottle, and serves you cakes.

At first, you’re utterly confused and a bit miffed that your work is stalled, but Josephine hushes you with a playful scold. She gently takes your hand and says, “Enjoy this moment. You’ve done outstanding work, and I want you to realize this.” You gaze over the horizon with Josephine at your side and see the marching soldiers and repaired battlements … and for the first time. you no longer see a lifetime of never-ending struggles, but a world of joy amongst the horror, made better by your hard efforts. Josephine lovingly rests her head on your shoulder as your stress escapes like a whistling teapot. You realize that while the next day may bring troubles, it may bring triumph as well.

\---

**Blackwall**

Of course your companions would walk behind you during missions, but you really wished they wouldn’t. Every time they strike a conversation amongst themselves, your heart stops and your breath falters. A _re they talking about me? Are they displeased with me? Are they complaining amongst themselves? Are they criticizing my methods? Poking fun of me behind my back?_ You can’t help these thoughts, even though you know they’re harmfully unnecessary. 

Unbeknownst to you, Blackwall recognizes your shifting eyes and uneasy gazes. He knows the look of someone who thinks too much and trusts too little. One evening, you drink with your companions and are earnestly having fun … until that VOICE creeps into your head again - _shut up, you’re so stupid, they don’t like you, no one likes you, everyone barely tolerates you_ \- and your joy pops like a balloon. You excuse yourself with the intention of retiring early.

But Blackwall follows and engages you outside, away from everyone else. “I’m not about to leave you alone”, he says, and he drapes a warm arm around your shoulders. Your mind flares up again, and you think that he pities you. But Blackwall patiently cradles your face and gives you a loving kiss. When the two of you break apart, you see a man who loves you dearly, no strings attached. You realize that although your mind may run wild with assumptions, it won’t change how Blackwall feels about you.

\---

**Dorian Pavus**

Outside the door, your audience stands waiting. You grasp the door handle for leverage, but your panic won’t stop rising. Fear overtakes you like a bubbling pot, and your head feels clouded and unbalanced. Hot terror spreads down your neck, into your chest, and throughout your limbs. Your body becomes apart from yourself, and you can no longer feel the weight of your limbs. You hear the chatter of a thousand devoted onlookers just outside, but you can’t bring yourself to greet them.

Dorian approaches you, eyes full of concern. You rub your chest feverishly in an attempt to stave off the panic, but the pain remains at a constant plateau. “What’s wrong, _Amatus_?” He asks worryingly, his voice much more soft and timid than usual. You gulp nervously and bare your troubles to the Tevinter mage - _I can’t go outside. I’m sorry_.

Dorian doesn’t hesitate. With a spin on his heel, he darts out the door and faces the crowd alone. As the door closes behind him, you hear him address the crowd and apologize on behalf of the Inquisitor, who is unavailable due to unforeseen circumstances involving evil Tevinter Magisters and goats deep in the Hinderlands. The crowd boos the young mage off the stage, but as he enters the door again, he wears a bright smile. That one simple look of unadulterated love douses the panic from your veins as you realize that Dorian will always be by your side, no matter your hurdles.

\---

**Sera**

Approaching a Fade Rift is always a challenge. The magic surrounding the Rifts distorts the senses, and makes you loose your sense of self. The closer you get to a Rift, the more distant your body seems from your consciousness. You need to be at a certain distance in order to activate your Mark, but at that distance you can no longer feel the weight of your limbs, and the world around you seems as fake as a stage backdrop. When forced to close a Rift, all you can do is grit your teeth, try not to think about how hard your heart is pounding, and wait to find yourself again. 

One day, while lounging on the cushions that line Sera’s patio, you bring up the topic. _Isn’t it …_ strange _how Rifts seems to mess with your mind?_ You say, and Sera gives a bitter laugh. “Strange? That’s what you call that mess? I’d call it the worst ever. Something like just … wrong. Unreal. Gives me goosebumps, it does. And not in the good way”. You see your own fear mirrored in her eyes. With that realization, the bundle of anxiety within your chest seems to loosen just a bit.

In a stroke of inspiration, you scoot closer to Sera, until your thighs are touching. You wrap both your arms around Sera’s own, and rest your head on her shoulder. The feeling grounds you both. From that moment onwards, when you raise your left hand to seal a Rift, Sera holds your free hand. The warmth of a hand is enough to distract both your minds from troubling thoughts as you heal the holes in the sky.


	3. Trans Inquisitor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Celebrate gender diversity! Happy trans vibes all around!

** Cassandra Pentaghast **

A part of you feels foolish for falling in love with her. Cassandra is ever the traditional lady warrior, who dreams of traditional flowers, traditional poetry, and a handsome man to sweep her off her feet. You’re neither handsome nor a man, and you’re certainly not traditional. In fact, when you look in the mirror and see yourself in a flattening harness, with your hair long and your clothing an odd mix-match of both women and men’s wear, you wonder if anyone could accept you for who you are.

One day, she draws you into a quiet corner on the battlements of Skyhold. “The flirting. I’ve noticed it,” she begins, and you interrupt. _I’ll stop, I know that you like men_ , you start to say, but she shakes her head. “That’s just it. I know you as the Inquisitor. I know you as our Herald of Andraste. But I don’t know if you are a man or a woman.” She smiles ruefully. “And perhaps I don’t particularly care to know. Perhaps it makes no difference.” She leans in closer, and you feel your joy swell in her acceptance. 

But she pauses, and says sardonically, “But I still require a proper courting. Talk to me when you get some flowers, candles, and good poetry.” And with that, you laugh and take a deep bow. _As my Lady commands,_ you say. “As any good lover should do, whether they be man, woman, or neither,” she replies with a cheeky grin.

\---

** Cullen Rutherford **

You know that he prefers women. He made it clear enough when rebuking offers from other men. But as the two of you grew closer, which cumulates to one fated night in his office, you begin to fear that _this is the turning point, this is where he leaves you_. True enough, when he reaches a hand down your shirt, he pauses upon feeling a bodice stuffed with clumps of sheep’s wool, instead of the warm flesh he was expecting. He looks down at you, his face all shock, and you stare back emotionlessly as your heart pounds and your mind races.

But he doesn’t recoil. He doesn’t run away. He doesn’t do anything hateful. Instead, he draws his hand back and cradles your face instead. “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t know.” He fumbles for the right words, afraid that he has put you off. Your fear dissolves and you scoff at his awkwardness. You wordlessly tear your shirt and bodice off, revealing yourself. Cullen at first seems apprehensive, but the moment passes and he smiles. He doesn’t hesitate as he embraces you again and whispers in your ear; “My Lady. My love”, and you respond with a loving kiss.

\---

** Solas **

Going straight from your clan to being a member of an Andrastian, human-centric military organization offered more than one type of change. You were determined to be _balma_ at birth by your parents, due to the blood clot that was clenched in your fist upon emerging into the world. As you grew older and developed broad shoulders and a deep voice, you continued to braid poppies in your hair, line your eyes with kohl, and dress yourself in graceful, intricate wraps. As was expected of anybody who was _balma_.

But to the humans, you are a man and nothing more. You try to explain that the Dalish have a different way than humans, and that _balma_ can’t simply be defined as ‘feminine men’, but it doesn’t concern them. Solas is the only one that understands - upon seeing the color on your lips and the delicate gold bangles at your wrists, he immediately greets you (in flawless elven) the respect deserving of your identity.  

As your relationship grows, you learn to relish in the understandings that he displays. Living in a world that suddenly pushed you into an identity that you don’t subscribe to can be aggravating, whether it be the ‘man’ part, or the ‘Herald of an Andrastian military’ part. Sometimes, Solas seems to relish in your identity as well. He looks at you with sad eyes and seems to drown himself in memories, and it makes you wonder if he’s also lost a bit of himself in a world conquered by humans as well. As Solas said that one fated night in Crestwood, “I see you for what you truly are”, and those words serve as a comfort during the lonely days ahead.

\---

** Iron Bull **

All throughout your life, you’ve had hints that something is askew. When you’re called ‘a handsome boy’, you take the compliments in stride, but a part of you always felt like being called a ‘boy’ wasn’t … your _thing_ , exactly. You had pushed those thoughts aside until you met Bull’s Chargers and was introduced to Krem, and realized that there was a place for people like you. Since that moment, you embrace being a woman. You leave your hair long and use a crafted corset to pad your chest, and these simple alterations make you feel like your life had finally begun in ernest. 

You keep these developments secret for fear of stirring up unwanted trouble, but keeping it hidden also meant that you felt a tad lonely. On the first-year anniversary of you and Bull’s relationship, you bunch up your courage and confine in him; _I’m actually not a man. I’m a woman. Kind of like your second-in-command, but in reverse._ Bull smiles warmly and gathers you up in his massive arms. “And you’re  _my_ woman, Kadan,” he says, and you feel your heart soar in joy. 

Bull doesn’t tell the others, and you would have been very angry if he did. Instead, you and him act the perfect undercover spies and pretend that you’re a man while in public. Behind the locked door of your bedroom, however, he treats you for who you truly are, which makes the evenings all the more sweeter. One night, while lying side-by-side in bed, he suddenly speaks. “Hey Kadan, you know how the Qun has different ideas when it comes to gender stuff? And you know how I haven’t been living in Par Vollen for a while? Yeah, I think I might be like you too …”

\---

** Josephine Montilyet **

She presents you with an elegantly tailored suit, made for use at the upcoming Winter Palace ball. You’d know that it’d look gorgeous on you, but something about the skinny cut of the hips and the broad shoulders of the jacket rubs you the wrong way. You’d rather something more … to put in blunt terms, feminine. You hesitate to confide your wishes to your beloved Josephine, for fear of being seen as a perverted freakshow, but the thought of spending the night in front of hundreds dressed so like a _man_ was overwhelmingly depressing.

So you say timidly that you’d feel more comfortable in something that wasn’t a dress or a suit, but something in between. To your surprise, Josephine’s eyes widen in realization and she rushes to clasp your hands lovingly. “Leave it to me, my darling,” she says sweetly. And the next morning, you see the suit has been altered to include a high-waisted asymmetrical skirt that reaches behind like a train, the ankle of the pants tightened to include the use of high-heeled boots, and the undershirt lined with delicate gold lace trimmings. The broad shoulders of the jacket remain, which gives the outfit a beautiful sense of androgyny. 

At the Winter Palace, Josephine patiently soothes your nerves and assures you that no trouble will come that night on your behalf. True enough, Josephine sticks to your side like glue, and although you attract plenty of stares, many of them are looks of awe, and strangely enough, some looks of jealousy as well. “You see, love? You have more friends in high places than you think”, Josephine tells you, and with the skill of a masterful diplomat, she spins your publicity to include your identity as neither a man nor woman, but a divine figure beyond such limited labels. You toss your long hair, rub your beard, smile, and marvel at how perfectly it all turned out in the end.

\---

** Blackwall **

Unbeknownst to no one but yourself, your morning routine consist of something very special; a mixture of herbs, magical ingredients, and animal extracts distilled into a bitter tea, taken every morning before breakfast. Three months of drinking, and already you feel your body starting to change and grow. Most invigorating is the thick, dark bushes of hair that have begun to sprout and thicken on your arms, legs, belly, and chest.

It started when you met Blackwall and found yourself admiring his thick muscles, his broad chest, and most particularly, his magnificent beard. At first, you thought it simply attraction to a handsome Grey Warden. Eventually you realized that it was something more. Never in your life had you thought anything was missing, but you cherish the hair that grows steadily on your changing body, amongst other things that the tea brings you.

On the sixth month, you approach Blackwall wearing not your long-sleeved beige suit, but instead an outfit that draws attention to your broad muscles, thick neck and jaw, and your body hair. He looks at you, his face unreadable. “My lady,” he begins, “I … you’ve changed.” You smile. _I have indeed, quite a bit,_ and he takes notice of your deeper voice. _You can call me Lady if you want, but know that I will not hold it against you if you stop loving me._  Blackwall doesn’t hesitate; he sweeps you into his arms and gives you a loving kiss. “I could never not love my Lady Herald,” he says, then he grins, “even if she outmatches me in hairy manliness,” and you laugh joyously.

\---

** Dorian Pavus **

Ever since the fiasco involving his father, you’ve put off bringing up the subject to Dorian. The two of you are thick as thieves, but requesting Tevinter magic to change your body might be a sore topic in light of Dorian’s history with altering magics. But on the days when Dorian lightly jokes about his preference for other men, you can’t help but feel like crying. _Can’t you see that I’m a man too?_ You want to say, but of course you don’t.

One evening, a sudden whoosh of cold air announced the arrival of the spirit Cole, who informs you that Dorian will visit with good news soon. Before you can do anything more than blink, Dorian bursts through the door and announces gleefully, “And I thought meeting one of the original Tevinter Magisters would be the strangest thing to happen to me! Never would I have imagined that a spirit of Compassion would inform me that a _certain someone_ wants a little pick-me-up here and there, but I’ve been proven the fool.”

Within hours, the two of you planned out a regime of alteration procedures. Dorian would use powerful magic gradually shape your biology, bit by bit, three times a week, to avoid any risk of bodily injury. He casts the first dose, and you feel your muscles grow just slightly, and your voice drop half an octave. That little difference already both energizes and calms you, as if some empty space is being filled out. You and Dorian stands face-to-face, and he looks at you with loving eyes. “You don’t have to hide anything from me, _Amatus_ ”, he says, and your lips meet.

\---

** Sera **

Since birth, you’ve known. But it wasn’t until well into your adulthood did you hire the services of a medical mage who prescribed you a regimen of herbal mixtures and magical surgeries. Now that you’re the Herald, you lack the ready access of tonics that fill out your bosom and widen your hips. At first, you worried that the lack of tonics would trouble you. Luckily, you’ve turned out to not be so bothered by the absence - keeping your hair long and insisting people refer to you as a woman is good enough for you.

But you wonder if it’ll be good enough for Sera, who desires large, tall, buxom women. You’ve got the ‘large and tall’ part covered, but as the months passed, there was less of the buxom, amongst other things. And the differences do not escape Sera, who one day sits you down and asks, “So what’s up with your gracious ladybits? Literally?” And you feel yourself blush from shame. It’s your _private_ business, after all. 

Sera notices the red in your cheeks and immediately says, “Oh, I get it. Miss Lady Herald doesn’t have her vitamins, eh? Hey, that’s alright.” She drapes her arms around your shoulders and gives you a loud kiss on your forehead. “Just ‘cause you don’t have your _vitamins_ doesn’t mean you don’t get no more smooches from me. You’re my lady, no matter what you look like.” She gives you a loving smile, and you plant a kiss on her nose, making her laugh. 


End file.
